Topo Gigio

"We'll see if those jeans still fit her in ten years."

Guys with guitars were playing Hotel California

When I got to Trieste

At the corner of Grant and Vallejo

At Molinari's, I got the last sweet roll available

And I listened to them play

As I took a sandwich from the bag that was sitting on my lap

It was beautiful and I don't even like The Eagles

They remind me of the most painful and boring corners of suburban life

Backseat of my mom's car, bored

Mad, crazy, crazy bored

On the way to my aunt and uncle's house

They killed my pet pig out there

They said they didn't know he was my pet pig

They cooked him up, they said they didn't know

That the pig was my pet Topo Gigio

They cooked him up at the farm house

And I cried and I cried and I cried like a baby

At my aunt and uncle's farm house

If you're a songwriter and you're having a dry spell

I don't want to hear about writer's block

It sounds like a living hell

If you can't find poetry, I suggest walk around the block

If you can't find it, then write about when

You were a kid and you got the chicken pox

If you grow marijuana, then write about your marijuana crops

If you like animals, then write about the ocelot

And if it's raining outside, then write about the raindrops

I still smell the Ohio farm pig slop

Melding with the smell of the corn crops

I'm a person who, knock on wood

Hasn't suffered a lot of writer's block

For better or for worse, this is my lot in life

I'm not afraid to lose my spot at the cafeteria

With the Tiffany's and the jocks

Are you afraid to sit alone at the cafeteria?

I'm not

For to be an artist is to not be a conformist

That is the meaning to me of being a true artist

I'm a sparrow fluttering around

Unafraid of the bows and arrows darting around

I'm a sparrow not afraid to take an arrow

And to bleed like Pablo Picasso

Did Lou Reed care what people thought?

Did Muhammad Ali care about what lessons the

United States thought that he should be taught?

I look at the cactus in the coffee shop

I look at the succulents in the Spanish clay pots

That cactus might have more left in it than I got

I walk around, around, around, around, around

Around, around, around, around the block

I see poetry in the trash in the parking lot

I see the strip clubs and see the neon signs all lit up

I see the young girls hanging outside with their juicy, thick butts

I ain't no deadbeat pop

And these guys playing guitar, piano, and drums sure are not

Listen to them play, listen to them play

Now it's my time to stop singing

And let the piano, the guitar, and the drums do the talking

And now me, myself, and I and me

We're gonna jump into this pocket now with some vocal

HarmonyOkay now it's time for me to start talking again

'Cause 59 Tomahawk missiles just got launched to Syria

And the mother of all missiles just went down in Afghanistan

And North Korea and the USA are now making a stand

And tension is escalating, and tension is escalating

Watch out leaders

How do you know that one of your owners aren't gonna

Sneak up behind you with a wire and just choke you out?

Choke you out, and choke you out

And choke you out, and choke you out

And choke you out, and choke you out

And choke you out, and choke you out

And stomp you out, and stomp you out

And put you out, and put you out

This is the sound of chaos, this is the sound of war

The sound of the wounded and the suffering

And buildings burning and collapsing, and cities being bombed

And men and women and children are being tortured

And leaders are being assassinated

This is the sound of war

This is the sound of war